But Only So An Hour
by Flaxton and Wheatley
Summary: Natara Williams has gone missing- kidnapped, so it seems. It's up to Mal to find her. But when he does, will she still be there? Or will she have slipped away? Nothing gold can stay.
1. Chapter 1

_Alright, so there's a rough fabric over my eyelids, what feels like a bandana wrapped around my mouth, and my hands are bound to a chair with a scratchy rope._ _My feet are resting in some sort of puddle on concrete, and there's a distinct scent of something festering. _

_What a wonderful situation you've gotten yourself into, Natara. Wouldn't your family just be so proud? _

I am not one to be terribly self piteous. In fact, it's not a trait that I even objectively consent. But every rule has an exception, right?

I sigh deeply and suddenly pain flares up along my ribs. I can't seem to remember what has happened to me as of late. In fact, the last thing I remember was being front of the SFPD building. I watched Mal step inside for a minute, and Blaise with him, talking on her phone. I could see a few stars in the sky, which was uncommon for the polluted environment of San Francisco. There was a draft, and I had left my jacket in my hotel room. I shivered and took one step towards the door of my car and then—nothing. I come to a blank.

This is unsettling because: 1) I have been told that I possess an impeccable memory, and as of now I have known nothing that has ever hindered it, and 2) I know many of the disconcerting repercussions that can come of short-term amnesia.

And now I am starting to sound like my mother.

I'm uncomfortable in this position, but fidgeting does little to help my situation. Maybe I should scream or cry for help.

_Wow, brilliant thinking Natara—that would totally work, especially counting on the fact that you are _gagged.

Unrealistic and impractical thinking in evidently impossible situations. How hard did I hit my head?

I try and remember. Just before my last memory I was with Mal. The edges of my lips curve up into a smile, but it fades quickly as I remember the rest of the details. We were tailing someone. A suspect for a homicide, and Mal was driving. Blaise was beside him and I was in the backseat. It was Blaise's car, the odd one with the purple seats. I remember the constant crackling and crunching of the discarded fast food wrappers and empty take-out containers that littered the floor.

We caught him, I remember. But not alive. Captain Yeong was furious, Amy wouldn't speak to me, Kai was… Kai, and Mal and Blaise were angry as well. This guy was our only lead. I can still feel the disappointment.

Mal took it the worst. He blamed himself, and even though the killing was justified, he still would not let it go. But ever since Ken's death, Mal has been blaming everything on himself. The amount of stress his body can stand will only go so far.

"Mal," I remembered saying, "You have to stop this. Everything is not your fault."

"Yes it is," he replied.

"Oh, so this gum on the bottom of my shoe is your fault?"

He didn't say anything.

"The fact that it will rain tomorrow, your fault?"

He still didn't speak, but he wouldn't get that stupid gloomy look off his face.

"Okay, well now you're going to tell me that _Kai_ is your fault too."

At that, Kai's head perked up from where he was trying to flirt with Blaise, "Dost thou summon me, fair Lady Natara?" We caught a glimpse of Blaise's pained expression, and that did the trick.

He laughed for a good five minutes, and finally, gasping, said, "Thank you, Natara."

I remember being filled with an outright zeal of accomplishment. I don't think I've ever been considered particularly funny. That may well have been the first joke I've told that ended well. "That's what I'm here for, Mal," I told him, finally.

I am remembering, and I am smiling…

Out of nowhere, I am jolted back in my chair. I can hear the wooden legs of it screeching against the pavement, and it hurts my ears. But nothing hurts as much as my head does after I feel the chair tipping back. I lose my equilibrium, and come crashing to the ground.

There are a few seconds of black. Then there is a strong scent everywhere and I jolt awake.

Slowly, vision seeps back into my eyes, and I catch the figure of a tall looming man. I try to move, but he has me pinned to the floor.

"_Help…_ _me_," I say. The wrap across my mouth has been taken off.

"Oh do give her a hand up, son. You've been too rough with her. I don't want _any_ damage to that delightful brain of hers," the voice says to someone. That voice.

That voice.

I know that voice. That cold, matronly voice, with the slightest little British accent. I almost don't want to believe it, but I know I should've suspected her long ago.

She had been too quiet the last month.

"Now… how are you doing, darling?" Genevieve Collins looks at me, her eyes like a snake's in the dim light, motioning her bodyguard to step away.

"I've been better," I say hoarsely, lifting myself onto my feet. Instinctively, my hand reaches towards my holster, even though I know my gun will not be there. My hand brushes my leg, and nothing else.

She laughs at me.

Scowling, I say, "You have to let me go."

"But darling," she acts shocked, "I've only _just_ got you."

"But not for long," I reply smugly. "Mal is going to find me, he always does, and this time you're not going to get away."

"It's so sweet that you believe that," she says condescendingly, "You know, I used to have a special someone at your age too. Though, he was not as handsome as yours…."

"Mal's not my—"

"Now tut, tut. We have so much to do. Follow me, now that's a good girl."

"Don't speak to me that way," I say, wincing as I take my first few steps.

"In what way shall I speak to you then?" Without waiting for an answer, she turns on her heel and begins walking through the only exit. I assume I have no choice and I follow her.

Trailing behind her I call after her, "I'm not one of your children, Genevieve. And I am not going to _become_ one of your children… no matter what you do or say."

We're walking down a long corridor with rusted metal walls, when suddenly, she stops. She turns to me and cocks her head to the side, confused, "Who said I was going to turn you into one of my children?"

This throws me off. "Then what—"

"My, my, maybe that hit in the head had been worse than I thought…"

"What are you—"

"I thought we went through this already, Natara."

"Went through wh—"

"I never _turn_ anyone into _anything_. They do it themselves."

"Genevieve—"

"Either way dear, _you_ could never be one of my children."

"I… I couldn't?"

"Of course not, darling, _you're me._"

"I—"

"I don't have to _turn_ you into anything."


	2. Chapter 2

_Maybe… you should just tell her!_

Those slurred words from Blaise have been stuck in my head all night. After my third beer yesterday, I had pretty much unwillingly confessed my feelings for Natara to her. She'd acted kind of odd… but then she'd said it. _Maybe you should just tell her._

Maybe I should.

My phone is within reach, and Natara is second on my speed dial.

Next only to Ken. I guess I should get to fixing that.

I take a deep breath. I haven't felt this nervous since my first case as a rookie cop. In fact, my palms are sweating. Wow, why are my palms sweating? It's just Natara, right?

It's only smart, beautiful, impossible Natara.

So, I think I've finally realized that the only way this thing is going to happen is if I just pick up the goddamn phone and just call her. Quickly, I snatch it off my table. I slam my finger on the call button with more force than was really necessary, and I bring the phone to my ear. I can feel a drip of sweat on my forehead.

I am overreacting to this, I know it.

I mean, what's the worse that could happen?

She could say no. Maybe she doesn't feel that way about me? What if she only sees me as a friend? How do I know I'm not going to be ruining our entire relationship by doing this? My stomach feels like the tilt-a-whirl at WonderWorld.

Then, I hear her voice.

_Apologies, from Natara Williams—I am not able to receive your call at this moment. Please leave a message after the beep. Thank you for calling._

Voicemail? I got her voicemail? It's six o'clock am. How could I have gotten her fucking _voicemail_? She's sleeping. That's got to be it. She's just sleeping. I just… jumped to conclusions.

But the Natara Williams I know is an incredibly light sleeper. It would have taken far less than her phone—even on _vibrate—_to wake her. There's no way she wouldn't have woken up. Now I'm starting to feel that horrible belly-ache of dread.

I've call her three more times and each time it's the same.

_Apologies, from Natara Williams—I am not able to receive your call at this moment. Please leave a message after the beep. Thank you for calling._

_Apologies, from Natara Williams—I am not able to receive your call—_

_Apologies, from Natara Williams—_

Next, I decide to call the Captain. Maybe Natara just called in early for work and left her phone at home.

"SFPD, Captain Maria Yeong speaking."

"Captain, has Natara reported for work yet?"

"Why, no, she hasn't. Is something the matter?"

"I don't know. She's not answering her cell. I'm going to try again and let you know."

"Alright, Detective. Don't worry too much. We all know that Natara is far more than capable of taking care of herself."

"Will do, Captain."

Okay, so Natara is not at work. My next thought makes me sick to my stomach, but I have to do it anyway. I call mister fancy-pants prosecutor, Oscar Santos.

"Hello? Mal?"

"Is Natara there with you?"

"Uh… no, is something the matter?"

"Nope. Bye."

I hang up. The Dashing DA doesn't need to know a thing.

I take a few more deep breaths. I put my phone down. I pick it up again. The last people I think to call are Natara's parents.

A young female voice answers the phone.

"Mansingh residence—how may I help you?" Neha says.

"Neha, is Natara with you?"

"Mal! It's you!"

"Yes, me. So is Natara there?"

"What? Natara? No, I haven't seen her in—"

She breaks off in mid-sentence.

"It's Mal, mom! You know, Natara's boyfriend!" screams Neha to who I presume is Mrs. Mansingh on the other side of the phoneline.

"I-I'm not her boy—" I start stammering, but am cut off by the transferring of the phone.

There is a pause, after which I hear, "Hello? Mal? Is everything alright?"

"I was just calling to ask if Natara was with you at the moment, Ms. Mansingh. Visiting, maybe?"

"I'm sorry, she's not here. Is… is everything alright? She's not in trouble is she?"

"Mrs. Mansingh, I don't want you to worry. She just wasn't answering her phone, I'm sure she's fine."

"Oh, please, I hope she's alright."

"Everything's fine," I lie. "Thank you Mrs. Mansingh."

"Thank _you_, Mal. Take care of her, alright? It's just that her father worries so much. More than I even do, really."

"Don't worry, even a little bit, I'll find her. She'll be safe."

And I hang up.

Natara is nowhere.

Finally, I take a deep breath. After all other options, allow myself to consider the inevitable. Natara Williams is in trouble. I just know it. I've been doing this job long enough to know it.

Natara has gone missing.

I am just about to run out of my apartment and hail the next cab, but I stop for a second and I think. Natara would know that it wouldn't be best to do this alone. And so, I call the only person I can think of.

"Hello?"

"Blaise, I need your help."

"What with?" she sounds like she's eating cereal.

"I think Natara's been kidnapped."

I hear what must be the cereal spurting out of Blaise's mouth. She coughs a bunch of times, choking slightly on leftover milk.

"What do you mean kidnapped?"

"I don't know who it is yet—and I don't want to jump to any conclusions—but Natara is missing."

"What, did you physically go to her hotel room to check if she wasn't there?"

"Well… no…."

"So?"

"She wasn't answering her phone and…"

"Mal, how do you know she didn't just leave it in her car or something?"

"Well…."

"Way to not jump to conclusions, Mal."

"Okay, you know what? Meet me in front of her hotel room in an hour."

"Alright. Fine. It's always fun to prove you wrong."

"But what if I'm right?"

"Yeah, what if," she laughs.

The horrible feeling in my gut intensifies. I start searching for my keys. Now where did I leave those damn car keys?


End file.
